Reminiscence
by Kylisa
Summary: One-shot. Takes place after sometime after New X-men 154 or so. It would have been Jean Grey's and Cyclops's anniversary - their wedding anniversary, had the Phoenix not died - except that only one person remembered it...and it's not Cyclops.


Years ago, a wedding took place in front of Professor Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. In the recent months, one of them has fallen, a victim of Magneto, and the other has moved on to someone else. That other has forgotten that this day would have been the day of their wedding anniversary - whether by accident or purposefully, no one shall know. But there is one person who hasn't forgotten: the one other person who also loved her, but could never truly have her.  
BTW, I don't hate Cyclops. I just hate the fact that he's with Frost. That's all.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. None.

No one ever goes up here anymore. The undergrowth and plants growing here have grown to a tumultuous amount, snaking across the ground and covering everything possible in its path. Scraggly bushes form bulky creature-like beings that were sure to strike fear into the hearts of every kid up to the tender age of five if seen in the dark. Weeds thrived, flowers died, and the fact that summer was quickly giving way to fall was no help to the botanical aspect of the land at all. A single slab of granite rose from amidst the chaos, words engraved on it. A lone tombstone, looking out of place as it towered proudly, rising as a phoenix would from its ashes.

A lone figure trudges up the hill, a single red rose held rather loosely in his hands. He keeps looking around from side to side, as if worried that someone might see him and what he's doing. Or what he's about to do.

It doesn't take him long to reach the thicken brush. He lays the rose off to the side, and slowly sinks into a crouch. His fingers trace the etchings in the gravestone, feeling every groove and edge and crack on it. He's been here before, though usually never for more than a few minutes; he knows the words engraved, the feel of this place, all by heart. More importantly, he knows the woman who lies beneath these words. He remembers her very strongly, the curve of her lips, the spark in her emerald eyes that would constantly radiate warmth and occasionally mischief, the feel of her body pressed up against him as they made out that one time - no, more than once...

A smile touches his lips a tad bitterly, and he kneels by the grave, resting his head on the smooth, cold stone. He felt tired, vulnerable...old.

"I feel tired," He voices almost tentatively, wincing at the ridiculousness of the statement, and glancing around furtively, making sure that there was no one in sight. He would never be able to live it down if anyone caught him talking to himself - or the grave. It's just something _he_ would never do, and everyone knows it.

Clearing his throat, he continues. "Yeah, that sounds stupid. Imagine, me, admitting weakness? Never thought this day would come." He chuckled slightly. "I know, yer probably thinkin' that age is finally catchin' up on me, and that I'd end up dead one of these days, healin' factor or no." His mirth dissipates. "Yer kinda lucky, you know? I envy you." He smiles grimly. "I mean, yer able to...die, to escape the world to a better place, where pure souls like you go. Although I bet God's probably wondering why yer back again." He tries to smile at his weak attempt at humour, but the smile does not come. "It's not that easy fer me to die, arrogance unintended though." He realizes that the forest seems to be listening to his words. Such is the silence that surrounds the area. It is just him...and her. He knows that wherever she is, she is listening to him.

"You know what? Yer - Cyke, he placed me on every damned team possible. I guess he really doesn't like me too much. How does he expect me to do that? Or maybe he doesn't," He muses aloud, and the silence becomes almost confused. He sits on the grave now, leaning back against the tombstone. "I mean, it ain't no secret that our one-eyed leader doesn't like me much." The silence seems to chuckle, and a gentle breeze lightly brushes his cheek encouragingly, as if saying, 'You can do it! Yes you can!'

Heartened, he continues. "But if you could see Cyke now - " His teeth grind in frustration. "I guess I can safely say that he's over you." With a _snikt_, his claws pop out of his hands before he realizes what he just did. With a sigh, he retracts them. "You know, I really wish I could kill 'im sometimes. But don't get me wrong, Jeannie. I don't hate 'im. I hate what he's done to you, what he's doing now to yer memory.

"If only yer were here," This is said quietly. "It just ain't fair that yer dead. Again. Yer didn' deserve it the least bit." His visage clouds. "Why not Cyke? Better 'im than you." The silence, if that is even possible, becomes disapproving, and he senses this, looking almost startledly around him. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I think," He mutters unapologetically. The silence seems almost amused. "But...Frost? An' that fast? The impression I get...like he's fergotten he ever had a wife. I mean, he's gotten over you so goddamned _fast_." He pauses for a breath. "You know, he hasn't talked about you ever since you died. Never talked about you to us at all. I guess he's really taking the whole 'til death us do part' crap. Now that yer dead, he can move on to that Frost woman."

The silence is almost sad, and he senses its resignation. And, for some very odd reason, a reluctant acceptance. She knows, he realizes. She knows what he's doing, and though she doesn't like it, she knows it's for the best. He wonders suddenly if she had a hand in the events contriving as of now.

He clears his throat again, deciding at the last second against spitting into the leaves. It just doesn't seem right. Not here anyway. Not at this grave. _Her_ grave. There was one grave he wouldn't mind spitting on though. Except that there wasn't a grave for his target. Yet.

"Anyway, the reason I came today - well, it's a special day, I suppose. Not fer me - fer you." He reaches for the rose, and tenderly lays it on her grave. The silence deepens, and he hopes he hasn't made a mistake as he continues, "It's...it would've been yer's - and Cyke's - wedding anniversary. Do - do you remember that day, Jean? That beautiful day everyone was there 'cept me?" He stares down at his hands, tightening them into fists and then relaxing them rhythmically. Restlessly. "Well...I was there, watching from afar." The silence is taken aback at this revelation. "Yer didn't know that, did you?" He laughs quietly. "No one did. Not even Chuck. Creed was there too - an uninvited guest. I made sure he stayed that way - uninvited. My wedding gift to you, I suppose. I wasn't going to let yer day get spoiled by some bastard." He stops, and sighs. "Look at me, reminiscing about the past, and yer not -"

_'Thank you,'_ The whisper is barely audible, and he stops in mid-sentence, his jaw dropping open as his gaze rises incredulously to his surroundings, unsure if he had heard that, or if it was just a figment of his imagination, a product of his intense longing to hear her voice just one more time. He strains his enhanced hearing, hoping to hear her one more time. And he is not disappointed.

_'You don't know how much this means to me...thank you.'_

Then there's just silence again. But it is enough, and he slowly rises. This time, the wind picks up briefly, wrapping itself around him in something akin to a lover's embrace. He smiles as it caresses his face, lightly kissing him as a real person would. As _she_ would. For a moment, he regards the tombstone, a wave of sadness sweeping over him. Alien feelings so rare to him that it almost seems strange having such emotions.

"Godspeed, darlin'," Wolverine gruffly said, swiping at something on his face. "Come back to us soon."

_Jean Grey-Summers  
__She Will Rise Again_


End file.
